BURNING NATION, SMOKING CITY. THE TALE OF THE
OGRE.
There once lived a tale that was retold over and over
generations. When fingers didn’t know the pen, when the world was still shoot
tender and war a tale too. When war was for heroes and not fought by hyaenas
who put their tails in between their hind legs when they saw the lions around
or heard them roar. Real men battle bare fisted, cowards use guns. A people
cannot know peace when they have not seen a war. Justice and peace are like
life and oxygen. How can a preacher claim his own holiness? The media is a goon
in a wedding dress, a beautiful ogre awaiting to eat you up in your sleep do
not ease your heart and emotions.
Life has turned out to an outdated tale, villagers being
haunted day and night by this power ogre. How do you cry on a monsters lap? How
will the goat get justice when the leopard is the judge? The tale my grandmother used to tell us while
we sat around her in her tin roofed mud house around the fire on dark peaceful
evenings. Despite the darkness showing no promises of light atleast it was
promising food for the soul in abundance, peace. We slept in peace from the cricket
sounds to howls of wild dogs and to the early morning devotion of birds. Indeed
god was to be praised for the peace, the greatest gift that brought us to
harmony with nature when we still didn’t know our blood groups and cared less
for a language to connect us lest it was love. But the tales told not of not
ice cream on the cone but blood on a machete.
Yes , the ogre had to shed its blood on the soil for the
peace of the people otherwise the villagers had nothing to fear of in the dark
nights where we could hear crickets communicating to their creator.. Sometimes
villages would burn, as women carried wailing babies on their backs escaping
the wrath of the ogre and the few brave men would dare it with their weak
arrows, but it took skill, effort and bravery to succeed. The ogre had to fall
and all it took was brevity of only one man who got lucky amidst the many
trials who knew the timing and where the arrow would sink deeply into the flesh
intoxicating with the poison. The hero of the people. With my yam leaf ears I sat and listened
patiently to each word as it came out with such unmatchable skill of a timeless
re-knowned story teller as I ignored the animal urine smell that
emanated from across the kitchen that
doubled up as a pen. Despite ants making a feast on the soft tender part of my
back body to which they were taking advantage of the two ever open gates behind
my khaki shorts that were due over retirement, I chose to marry attentiveness throughout
not caring my age.
Decades thereafter I sit and ponder but end up sighing in
pain as I ask myself who bewitched society? I used to wake up a son of the
village, now I wake up as an enemy to my neighbor. Where is the love? Its
stolen I find out, by money, power and the people of my village I once grew up
knowing they are kin from a distant land who spoke another language. Now
betrayal has set in, the ogre has unveiled itself in broad day light and I can
see houses burning. My younger brothers, sisters and nieces being born in
oppression, torture and mass killings. How do I teach them of peace and freedom
that I haven’t seen and when all they wake up to bullet shots instead of
chirping of birds?
How do I lie to them of equality, justice and love when all
they see is blood, dead bodies and a burning city. What language am I teaching
them if I cannot understand love? Oooh a poor generation may god forgive us
which I know he isn’t sober to. With all this greediness how do we teach them
of generosity if we even don’t know how to spell it? Let the gods of the skies
get angry and drown us all with the arks we’ll try to build and let a new
generation shoot out of the ground. Let our wickedness be washed away by our
own blood that our generations may live knowing peace and rejoicing in love and
neither be bound by blood but humanity. I desire that they may be born free not
slaves like so am confused on teaching them the art of war like Sun Tzu or be like
Jesus and teach them love they can’t see while all they feel is the heat from
their burning nation. Animals are better humans. Hope you remember the story of
the lioness of Samburu natonal park and the baby oryx. The dolphins too. I see
men, men in brassieres running away from the ogre and watching from behind a
screen. So let me preach even if it means turning out to a preacher but I
promise you a sermon nil of lies but overflowing with the bitter reality than
your normal pampering sermon. I’ll make you dinner with bile. Cowards will
preach peace under oppression where exists no justice. An ogre is an ogre, not
known by its face but its back.
Brothers and sisters, nothing comes from comfort zones.
Comfort zones bring slavery, economic pain, disease and premature death.
Revolutionize the world by any means, be part of the change you want to see.
Better die trying than a coward. The media is making profits from your
ignorance, do not lend it your trust not even your ear all times. Digital lies
beware, from confused young, beautiful, handsome but foolish young men who put
food on their table by spreading lies, rumor and propaganda. Media and
government are but bodies hiding truth from the people and still we are looking
for truth from where it was taken away from us.
We were not born to endure economic pain, oppression or
slavery of any kind. We were born free rich souls brave to overcome fear,
intimidation and root out any stump in our way because we have the power, voice
and a mind. Why be born a slave in your own country, why be born a squatter?
You are not a lesser being but only being manipulated to dance to the familiar
rhythm and in the end your bones will make soup for the ogres in the same feast
you are portraying all the skills your body can to please them for your freedom.
Use your wit lets bring the ogre down and make drums out of his skin and dance
to the beat of peace and liberation. Keep on a strong physical and spiritual
fight it’s not over unless you say so.
Patriotism is the love for one country. Where is patriotism
when you let the ogre spice you up and your village to crispiness and marinate
you in a marinade concentrated with bullshit and fear. Why do you watch as your
economy crumples, as your health deteroriates as people are assassinated for
others to lead? A true warrior stands up against fear and the will of his flesh
and he is brave to know life starts when we die. The life of legends and
heroes. One who is patriotic stands up not for himself but to his nation for
the nation is bigger than them. Lets defeat the ogre, you and I and live a real
life not a tale. ONE DAY THE OGRE MUST
FALL.
# POLITRICKS
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